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Leaves of Grass (1871-72)
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A NOISELESS, PATIENT SPIDER.
1 A NOISELESS patient spider, |
I mark'd, where, on a little promontory, it stood,
isolated;
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Mark'd how, to explore the vacant, vast surrounding, |
It launch'd forth filament, filament, filament, out of
itself;
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Ever unreeling them—ever tirelessly speeding them. |
2 And you, O my Soul, where you stand, |
Surrounded, surrounded, in measureless oceans of
space,
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Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing,—seeking the
spheres, to connect them;
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Till the bridge you will need, be form'd—till the ductile
anchor hold;
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Till the gossamer thread you fling, catch somewhere,
O my Soul.
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